


Wreckage

by Rhiannon87



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The search for the Cintamani Stone left plenty of destruction in its wake. Elena, Sully, and Chloe deal with the fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Elena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Elena meant when she said she followed the tracks to the wreckage.

The hard part wasn't racing a stolen Jeep after a speeding train so that Nate could jump from the former to the latter. It wasn't even sneaking back into the city past Lazarevic's soldiers, or calling her producer to tell him that Jeff was dead, or buying a truck from the rebels.

No, the hard part was managing to follow the train up into the mountains. Elena slowed the truck as she came around a bend in the tracks and instinctively glanced over her shoulder. She'd blown past a couple barricades to make it this far, and the last thing she needed was a military pursuit. The tracks behind her were thankfully empty. Ahead of her, though, that was a different story. She'd already gone off-road several times to get past train cars that had either been disconnected or, worryingly, been blown up. Sure signs of Nate's passage, just like the mangled, shredded train car covering the tunnel entrance.

Not quite covering, Elena found when she got closer. The car had landed at an angle, leaving a small gap that she _might_ be able to squeeze the truck through. She eyed the gap and the dark tunnel beyond, then twisted around to look behind her as she backed up. If she angled it right, she'd probably make it through without much damage. The paint wasn't going to survive intact, but it wasn't like the truck had been especially pretty to begin with. She cast one last glance over her shoulder, then flicked on the headlights and hit the gas.

It was with a lot of scraping metal and the loss of a side mirror, but she made it through. Elena hoped against hope that there weren’t any cars left on the tracks in here. If the tunnel was blocked, she'd have to leave the truck and keep going on foot, and with no idea where the train was going or where Nate might have escaped with Chloe, the idea was utterly unappealing. Some small measure of luck was on her side, though, and the tunnel remained clear. Elena found herself speeding up the longer she stayed in there; she wasn't usually claustrophobic, but the darkness and the close tunnel walls were pushing her tolerance. Spotting the first hint of sunlight was a huge relief.

Once she actually emerged from the tunnel, though, her relief vanished. It had snowed recently, burying the tracks, and Elena had to slow to a crawl to keep from sliding off the cliffs. The tracks curved out of sight around the mountains, but the wind carried dark plumes of smoke into view. She tried to do the math in her head, figure out how long ago the train would have passed this way, how bad the fire must be for it to still be burning--

She slowly edged around another turn and hit the brakes, bringing the truck to a stop as she stared at the wreckage before her. A few crushed train cars blocked the track, along with several enormous boulders and what might have been the remains of a helicopter. The torn-up tracks and gouges in the dirt indicated that at least a few cars had gone over the edge. And the worst part of it was the lack of fire. This wasn't the source of the smoke she'd seen-- that was still somewhere up ahead.

Elena took a deep breath, then killed the engine. Mechanically, she pulled on her gloves, gathered what little supplies she'd brought with her, and climbed out of the truck. It would be impossible to get the truck turned around to return to the city. No way but forward, she thought and headed for the landslide. Getting past was nerve-wracking, even though the climbing itself wasn't all that difficult. It was the knowledge that one wrong slip on the icy rocks meant falling to her painful and likely slow death that made her stomach twist into knots. Elena kept following the tracks, across a bridge and around more curves, heading for the ever-growing plumes of smoke. Stupid, probably, to head for the obvious signs of destruction, but it was her best bet for finding Nate. Elena scoffed and shook her head. Stupid to come up here looking for him in the first place. But she had to. She was following Nate, and Nate was following Lazarevic. She had to find one of them, at least, before she could figure out what to do next. 

It took almost twenty minutes of walking before she caught up with the smoke. Elena stopped dead, blinking hard, as she tried to wrap her mind around the sight in front of her. Easily two dozen train cars were scattered across the tracks and mountainside, all the way up to the cliff's edge. One of the cars was an oil tanker-- it must have caught fire in the wreck, and it still burned, pouring thick gouts of smoke into the air. From her vantage point, she could see tracks carved in the snow where at least one car had gone over the cliff.

No sign of a locomotive, though, and even with all the cars left on the track behind her, this didn't account for the whole train. Which meant that the lead cars-- and most likely Lazarevic-- had continued on. Elena squeezed her eyes shut, and for a moment, allowed herself the daydream that Nate was on that half of the train, that he'd thrown Lazarevic over the side with a witty one-liner and was on his way back to the city to find her. A nice dream, but that was all. The reality was in front of her: snow and fire and wreckage that she'd have to search. She'd have to check every car for his body, every corpse buried in the snow to make sure it wasn't him.

And even then, she might not find him, she thought, her eyes drifting to the cliff again. He could've been in one of those cars, fallen to his death, and she'd never...

She shook her head and started walking. She didn't have any other choice. She had to look. If she didn't find him here, she'd just... just keep following the tracks. If there was more wreckage, then she could probably guess he was alive. If not... Elena pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and pointed herself at the closest car. She'd worry about it later.

An hour later, the fire was still raging and Elena had only searched a handful of the cars. Some she couldn’t get into, due to fire or debris or location. She circled those, peering in the shattered windows and calling for Nate when she still had her voice. The cold air made her lungs ache, and every so often, the wind would carry smoke in her direction, setting off a coughing fit and leaving her gasping. Her jeans and boots were soaked through, and her aching ears made her wish she’d brought a hat. Though at this point, it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference.

She was still shivering, though. Not hypothermic yet. She had to take her good news where she could get it.

The car she’d been searching was empty, and she carefully climbed down to the ground and set her eyes on the next one. A few of the cars had piled up on top of each other, and beyond them, she could see the burning tanker. Elena kept her gaze fixed on her next target, refusing to let herself look down, or back towards the cliffs she’d just skirted around. If she looked away, if she thought about anything but reaching the train car, she might realize how hopeless this was. Nate was probably dead, and even if he wasn’t, she was so lost and so cold that catching up to him again would be all but impossible—

A loose rock slipped under Elena’s boot, and she pitched forward with a startled yelp. She landed hard on her hands and knees, the snow doing little to soften the impact. “Dammit,” she swore, her voice a hoarse whisper. With a pained groan, she pushed herself up to her knees and examined her palms. Her gloves hadn’t torn, thankfully, but her hands still hurt. Everything hurt, really. Elena blinked hard, uncertain if the tears springing up in her eyes were from the exhaustion and frustration and fear, or just from the cold wind.

Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet and resumed hiking towards the train car. It looked reasonably intact. Maybe after she checked through it, she could sit down for a while. Wait until her legs stopped hurting, at least. A rest would be good.

Someone shouted up ahead, farther into the wreckage, and Elena’s head snapped up, the pain and weariness temporarily drowned in a surge of adrenaline. She had her hand on her gun almost without thinking, and she dashed the last few meters to the car to take cover. Too far away to hear the words, but she was pretty sure it hadn’t been in English. More of Lazarevic’s men? Maybe they survived the crash or were sent back to search the wreckage. Elena swallowed hard, straining to hear over the wind and the fire and the blood pounding in her ears.

Nothing. After a minute or so, she relaxed a bit and crept along the side of the car, moving in the direction she’d heard the voice. Thought she’d heard, anyway. God, if she was hallucinating…

Another shout, then a called answer, and Elena let out a sharp breath. All right. Probably not hallucinating, then. It sounded like a dialect of Tibetan, which meant they mostly likely weren't Lazarevic's people. His soldiers were largely from Eastern Europe and Russia, and he hadn't hired any locals, as far as she knew. Elena risked a glance around the edge of the car and spotted a small cluster of figures trudging through the snow. She ducked back into cover, leaning against the side of the car, and shook her head. She didn't have much of a choice. She stood a far better chance with these strangers than she did staying out here alone.

She took a deep breath to steel herself, made sure her gun was securely in its holster, then stepped around the car and into view. It took all of two seconds before someone spotted her and shouted, then Elena found herself blinking at a number of crossbows and rifles, all trained on her. She put her hands up and shook her head. “ _Don't shoot_ ,” she said, wincing at how clumsy her Tibetan sounded. “ _Please, don't shoot._ ”

None of them lowered their weapons, but one bundled figure stepped forward. “ _Were you on the train?_ ” he asked, speaking slowly for her benefit.

Elena shook her head. “ _No, no, I am not-- not with them._ ” She waved one hand at a pair of bodies in Lazarevic's uniform. The man who'd spoken first just stared at her, and after a couple seconds, she continued. “ _I am looking for-- my friend._ ” That was hardly adequate or accurate to describe her relationship with Nate, but she didn't have the words to describe what they were to each other in her native language, much less any other.

“ _One of the soldiers?_ ”

“ _No._ ” Elena paused, sorting through her limited vocabulary. “ _No uniform. He's tall--_ ” she gestured over her head at roughly Nate's height, “ _dark hair, wearing a necklace with a ring..._ ”

The man's expression shifted to one of recognition, and he nodded. “ _Tenzin found a man in the snow, outside the wreckage,_ ” he said.

Elena let out a sharp breath that bordered on a sob. She'd been so certain he was dead, certain that her search for him was hopeless, and now... “Is he-- _is he alive?_ ”

“ _He was when Tenzin brought him to the village,_ ” the man said. “ _Badly injured, but alive._ ”

“Oh, thank god.” Her arms fell back to her sides, and she swayed on her feet, her energy evaporating in the wake of sheer, overwhelming relief. “Can I-- _can I see him?_ ”

The man stared at her for a few more seconds, then lowered his crossbow. The others followed suit and spread out to continue investigating the crash site. He waved for her to follow, and Elena stumbled after him to a packed-snow ramp leading out of the wreckage. He paused and spoke to another man standing there, then gestured for Elena to come forward. “ _Dawa will take you to the village,_ ” he said. Dawa inclined his head towards her in greeting.

Elena just nodded. “ _Thank you._ ”

“ _You're welcome. Be safe._ ”

The village was built across a few long steppes on the mountainside. Elena didn’t see much of it beyond the partially cleared road, her focus spent on taking one more step, then another, then another. All she wanted right now was to make sure Nate was all right and then find somewhere warm to sit down for a while.

Dawa led her to a house near the edge of a steppe, and Elena put a hand on the wall to steady herself while they waited. After a few moments, the door swung open, and Dawa spoke quietly to the man inside. Elena didn't have the energy to try to follow their conversation. “ _This is Tenzin,_ ” he said, turning to Elena. “ _He is the one who found your friend._ ”

She nodded and moved towards the open door. “ _Thank you_ ,” she said. Dawa bowed his head to her, then headed back into the village.

Tenzin held the door open for her, but before he could speak, Elena caught sight of Nate lying on a narrow bed on the far side of the room. “Oh, my god,” she gasped and ran to his side. He looked awful-- too pale, with what she could see of his skin covered in bruises and scrapes and dried blood. But he was still breathing. He was alive.

“ _Here,_ ” Tenzin said from behind her. Elena half-turned to see him set a wooden chair down by the bed. “ _You should rest._ ”

Elena shook her head as she sank down into the chair, belatedly realizing that it was sort of rude to just go running into a stranger's house. “ _Thank you_ ,” she said again. “ _I'm, ah... my name's Elena._ ”

“ _Tenzin._ ” He nodded at Nate. “ _And what is his name?_ ”

“ _Drake,_ ” she said, defaulting to Nate's preferred way of introducing himself. “ _Nathan Drake._ ” She cleared her throat to ask a question, but she started coughing instead.

By the time she stopped, Tenzin was across the room at the fire, pouring water from a kettle into a mug. “ _Here_ ,” he said. “ _This should help._ ”

Elena accepted the mug with a grateful smile and took a sip. The tea was a little too hot, but it did soothe her throat some. And the additional heat was certainly welcome. “ _What happened?_ ” she asked, nodding at Nate.

Tenzin returned to his post by the table and folded his arms. “ _I was hoping you might be able to tell me_ ,” he said. “ _I saw the crash and went to investigate. I found him crawling through the snow just outside of the wreckage. He fell unconscious before I could reach him._ ”He shook his head. “ _He was hurt in the crash, I think, but the worst of it was the gunshot._ ”

“Oh, god,” Elena breathed, her mind already spinning out scenarios to explain how he’d been shot. “ _Where...?_ ”

Tenzin stepped forward and gestured at the space above Nate's left hip. “ _I removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding,_ ” he said. “ _He was lucky. I would say he has a good chance to recover._ ”

Elena closed her eyes for a long moment. “ _Thank you_ ,” she said again. “ _For helping him._ ”

“ _I could not leave him to die like that,_ ” Tenzin replied, then paused for a second before continuing. “ _He must be a good friend, for you to come searching for him._ ”

A good friend. Yeah, something like that. “ _He is_ ,” Elena agreed faintly. She looked down and took another sip of tea. God, she was tired.

“ _If you will excuse me, I need to check on my daughter,_ ” Tenzin said as he straightened up. “ _Would you like to sleep_?”

Elena shook her head. She was exhausted, but... “ _I'd like to sit with him for a while,_ ” she said.

He nodded. “ _There is more tea, if you want it,_ ” he said, gesturing at the fire. “ _I will be back soon._ ”

Elena just watched as Tenzin pulled on his coat and collected his hat. Once she was alone, though, she set her mug down and buried her face in her hands, taking deep, shuddering breaths in lieu of sobbing. The weight of the day was almost crushing. It had been mere hours since she’d run into Nate, since Jeff had died, since she’d narrowly escaped death herself. She’d been able to hold herself together as long as she had something to focus on, some goal ahead of her, but now, there was nothing but waiting and hoping that he’d wake up.

She rubbed at her eyes, then dropped her hands back to her lap and glanced over at Nate. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” A self-sacrificing idiot who’d go to near-suicidal lengths to save the people he cared about. She wondered if he’d even caught up to Chloe. Doubtful, given the gunshot and the train wreck.

Elena swallowed hard and shook her head. She’d ask him about it when he woke up. She couldn’t let herself think in terms of ‘if.’ He’d be fine. He had to be. She reached out and gently stroked her fingers through his hair, wincing a bit when she saw the flecks of dried blood and dirt on her hand. “How do you get yourself into these messes?”

Something clicked in her mind at that. Sully-- Nate was his best friend, he needed to know what had happened. Elena reached into her pocket for her satellite phone, then stopped and let out a frustrated sigh. She didn’t have Sully’s number. It was saved in her cell phone, which was sitting on the nightstand in her apartment, thousands of miles away. She hadn’t put his number in the phone the studio had given her, there’d been no reason to. Elena shook her head. So much for that.

With a sigh, Elena pulled off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, then, after hesitating for a moment, tugged off her soaked boats. It seemed sort of rude to be kicking off her shoes while sitting in a stranger's house, but she still couldn't feel her toes. She'd just let her boots and socks dry out for a bit, then put them back on before Tenzin came back. Elena looked back at Nate, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She'd found him, and he was alive, and once he woke up she could figure out what to do next.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise to find herself waking up some time later. Elena blinked into the dark room, her thoughts fuzzy and her body aching. She sat up, her muscles screaming in protest as she stretched. A thick, soft blanket slid down to her lap from where it had been draped around her shoulders. She looked back at Nate and let out a quiet sigh of relief when she saw him breathing. That concern allayed, for the moment, she glanced around the room, trying to get her bearings. Her boots were sitting in front of the fire, and the rest of her clothes had mostly dried out while she slept.

There wasn’t really anything she could do right now, aside from stare at Nate and will him to wake up. And that wouldn’t help anyone. Elena covered her mouth to stifle a yawn and gathered up the blanket. She slowly got to her feet, then moved the chair aside so she could arrange a makeshift bed on the floor. The blanket was large enough that she could wrap it around herself, and her coat would do for a pillow. Not especially comfortable, but it was still an improvement over napping in the chair.

Elena settled in, curling up to keep warm. After a few moments, she pulled one arm free of the blanket and reached up to rest her hand on Nate’s chest, reassuring herself with its rise and fall under her fingers. He’d be fine. He’d wake up, and they’d figure out where Lazarevic had gone and what he was after, and then… well, Elena wasn’t about to give this up, not now. Not when she’d invested so much, lost so much, in order to stop him. Nate would see how important this was.

She tucked her arm back under the blanket and closed her eyes. Worries for the morning. Right now, she needed to rest. God only knew when she’d get the chance again.


	2. Chapter Two - Sully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sully's arrival in the village. He had to find out what happened somehow.

Sully had been in his hotel room, getting ready for another night at some of Manila's finest seedy bars, when the call came. Nate was in Nepal, or Tibet, somewhere in the mountains, he'd have to get the coordinates-- Elena was hurt, she might be dying, and in his panic Nate had called Sully. It wasn't like Sully could do anything for her; hell, he didn't even know what she was doing there in the first place. But Nate needed him.

He was on the first plane to Tibet the next morning.

It took over thirty-six hours by plane, train, and truck to get to the village tucked away in the mountains. Chloe was the one waiting to greet him at the gates, and he knew things were bad just from the look on her face. “Hello, Victor,” she said with a brittle smile. “Glad you found the place.”

“Yeah,” Sully said. Behind her, the village looked like a war zone. Bombed out buildings, rubble in the streets... recent, too. “What the hell happened?”

Chloe shook her head and turned to lead him through the streets. “Ask Nate,” she said. “He knows better than I do.” She kept her head down as they walked, her hands jammed in the pockets of her jacket. Sully hurried along after her and tried to ignore the growing knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. Chloe led the way across the village to the house at the far end. “Nate?” she called as she pushed the door open. “Victor's here.”

Sully stepped inside and frowned. There was no sign of Nate in the empty room, but then he stepped around a door frame and blinked at them. “Oh, thank God.”

“Jesus, kid,” Sully said, unable to stop himself. Nate had looked better after three months in prison than he did right now. His clothes were torn and stained with what Sully recognized as dried blood, there were dark circles under his eyes, and when Sully crossed the room to give him a hug, Nate all but fell on him. Sully hugged him tight, then quickly let go when Nate hissed in pain and pulled back. “Nate, what--”

“Got shot,” Nate said with a grimace, pressing a hand to his side.

Sully felt the blood drain from his face. “You _what_!?”

“It's fine, Sully, I'm fine,” Nate replied and waved it off. “But Elena...” He looked over his shoulder to the room behind him.

Sully took a deep breath, then let it out. “C'mon,” he said, gently patting Nate on the shoulder. “Why don't you tell me what happened.”

Nate nodded and disappeared back into the room. Sully took a step to follow him, then looked at Chloe. She was standing near the doors, staring at the ground, her arms wrapped around herself. “Do you want to...?” he began, inviting her to come along with a gesture.

Chloe raised her head and blinked at him, then shook her head. “Uh, no,” she said after a second. “Thanks, but I... I think I'm gonna get some air.”

She'd gotten plenty of it on their walk across the village, but something was clearly wrong for her, too. Sully just nodded and turned away.

Nate had gone back to his chair by Elena's bed and held one of her hands in both of his. Sully found another chair and carried it over. Elena didn't look too bad, save for some nasty cuts on her forehead and neck, but the blanket pulled up to her shoulders likely concealed the worst of the damage. Nate was watching her with wide eyes, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth across her hand.

Sully sighed and inched his chair a little closer to Nate before he sat down. “Wanna start at the beginning?” he prompted.

Nate told him everything. Starting from when they'd parted ways at the airport, he explained his arrival in Nepal, finding Chloe, the reunion with Elena... Sully just listened, mostly, occasionally asking questions when something didn't make sense. Nate sounded exhausted more than anything. He couldn't seem to muster much emotion as he spoke, not even when it came to his failed attempt at helping Chloe and Flynn shooting him. Sully clenched his jaw, forcing his own (belated, useless) fear back down. Nate had almost bled to death on a goddamn mountain because he’d been alone. Because Sully hadn’t been there.

It was only as Nate drew closer to the end, describing how Flynn had died and almost killed Elena in the process, how Chloe had helped get them out of Shambhala and the monastery, that grief and fear came back into his voice. “...Chloe found Elena's satellite phone, and then I called you,” he concluded. He let go of Elena's hand just long enough to take a sip of water-- Sully had found a pitcher and cups after Nate had started coughing-- and shook his head. “I don't speak the language, so I don't-- I don't know how bad off she is. I don't know if Tenzin thinks she'll wake up, or if I'm just sitting here waiting for...” He trailed off and blinked hard, apparently unwilling to complete the sentence.

Sully leaned over and squeezed Nate's shoulder. “I'm sure she'll be fine,” he said. “She's stubborn, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Nate agreed without much confidence.

“You should go get some sleep,” Sully said after a second. “I can--” _sit with her_ , but Nate cut him off.

“I'm not leaving her, Sully,” Nate said. “I'm not. I can sleep here, I did it last night, but I'm not...” He shook his head again, his attention refocusing on Elena.

Shit. The kid was still head-over-heels for her, and if he didn't realize it after all this... well, Sully wasn't above trapping the two of them in a room until they figured themselves out. He wasn't clear on the details of why they'd broken up, but it obviously had nothing to do with a lack of love between them. How Nate felt was plain as the sun in the sky, and, well, Sully didn't think Elena would’ve chased Nate up into the mountains if she didn't care about him.

Sully nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. D'you want me to stick around, or...?”

Nate glanced at him sideways. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I'd... yeah.”

“Okay, kid,” Sully said softly. A few minutes passed in silence, the two of them sitting in vigil, before the quiet started to get to him. “So... not really a giant sapphire, then,” he asked.

Nate laughed, which had been Sully's goal in the first place, and shook his head. “No, Sully,” he said. “Just a big ball of tree sap.”

“That's a shame.”


	3. Chapter Three - Chloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving on is easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical inspiration for this chapter: [The Park by Feist](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvDTrN9cMvE) Thanks to Caryl (starshone) for character feedback.

London was bitterly cold this time of year, and it hit Chloe like a slap in the face as she left the Tube station for her flat in the city. Bad enough to be this cold; worse when, twenty-four hours ago, she'd been in summertime Sydney. She’d have preferred a job someplace warmer, but the state of her various bank accounts meant she couldn’t afford to be choosy. So here she was, back in London for the first time in six months or so, for her first post-Lazarevic job.

He was the longest steady employer she’d had since she was twenty. Perhaps there was a lesson to be drawn from all this about the benefits of freelance work.

Chloe smiled without much humor as she unlocked the door to her flat. The place was dusty and smelled sort of off—not unpleasant or foul, she hadn’t left fruit rotting in the kitchen for half a year or anything, but just strange. Unfamiliar. She walked inside and locked the door behind her, cracked a couple windows to air the place out, put her bag on the dresser. She had apartments and flats around the world, coming back to one after a long time away wasn’t unusual. There was a routine to making a place livable again.

Part of that routine was, usually, crawling into bed and sleeping for ten hours. Once she woke up and showered, she’d be far more motivated to do things like buy food or hang up her clothes. Chloe sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. She’d slept on the plane. Didn’t mean she felt like doing much of anything at the moment, though.

The idea of just sitting around her flat with nothing to do but think sounded horrible. Worse than braving the weather. Before the thought had really had time to form, Chloe was on her feet and pulling a heavy coat out of the closet. It was dusty and smelled a little strange, too, but fresh air would fix that. She was back on the street again moments later, and properly attired, the cold wasn’t quite as bad. She found a pair of gloves tucked in the pockets and pulled them on as she started to walk. She’d just wander the city a bit, exhaust herself enough that when she got back, she’d be able to sleep.

She told herself she wasn’t walking anywhere in particular, just a random direction, but there wasn’t any truth to it. It was only when she reached the last turn towards Harry’s place that she admitted where she was going. Chloe stopped and looked down the street. She’d made this walk plenty of times, met him outside his building on their way to the library for research, or wandered back here with him after a night at the pub.

For a few moments, she considered going up there, breaking into his place and looking around, but then she realized that it had probably been months since the rent had been paid. Most likely the landlord had already emptied it out and sold everything. So the only thing left of Harry's was the lighter tucked in her pocket. Nate kept it, pocketed it without thinking after he opened the entrance to Shambhala, and he hadn't realized he still had it until they got back to the village. He'd told Chloe he was going to throw it off the mountainside, but she'd stopped him, asked if she could have it. 

Chloe absently patted her pocket to make sure it was still there. Maybe she should have let Nate chuck it off a cliff. Probably would’ve been smarter to cut ties with Harry completely. He turned out to be a real piece of shit at the end, and maybe she’d be better off just letting him go. But now that she had it, she doubted she could bring herself to get rid of the bloody thing. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in a few years she’d see it for the stupid sentiment that it was and throw it away. Maybe.

With a sigh, she turned around and started walking up another street, away from Harry’s place. She wondered if anyone else knew he was dead. He’d had brothers, she knew that much, but he’d only ever mentioned them once or twice, when he was _quite_ drunk. And those mentions had never been complimentary. Chloe shook her head. It wasn’t her place, to go looking for them. If she could even find them in the first place. Flynn wasn’t exactly an uncommon name, and she had no idea if it was his real one. Aliases weren’t exactly unheard of in her line of work.

She kept walking, taking random turns and cutting through alleys masquerading as proper streets, until things started to look a little less familiar. The streets eventually brought her to a small park, one of London’s innumerable green spaces—or at least, it would be green, in a few months. Right now, it was mostly shades of brown and grey. Despite that, the benches looked inviting, and Chloe wandered over to one. She hadn’t been walking long enough to feel as tired as she did. Jet lag, she told herself, that was all, and it wasn’t until she pulled Harry’s lighter out of her pocket that she admitted grief was pretty exhausting, too.

Chloe shook her head as she turned the lighter over in her hands. It was irritating, in a way, that she was grieving for him at all. She didn’t go in for moral posturing, not like Elena (or even Nate, God help him), but she couldn’t deny that Harry just wasn’t a good person, at the end. Before the end. She kept trying to tell herself that he wasn’t always like that, kept trying to give him an out. She tried to blame Lazarevic or Nate or even herself for what went wrong. But she could never convince herself. No one made him do any of it. He made his own choices.

The problem, of course, was that if he made his own choices, then he was always like that. He was always spiteful and vengeful and possessive and a whole host of other shitty things. He was always a man who would betray and nearly murder a friend out of jealousy, who would let their boss use her as a hostage, who would drop a suicide grenade and almost kill someone who was trying to help him. Try to kill two people he’d cared about, once. Harry Flynn had been a man who’d make those choices, and she’d _liked_ him. So what did that say about her?

At least she wasn’t the only one. Nate had liked him too, thought of him as a friend, and for a hell of a lot longer than she had. He’d told her not to blame herself for what happened, and Chloe guessed it was probably easier for him to wash his hands of any guilt. He was the one who got stabbed in the back and shot in the stomach. Chloe winced, her hand clenching around the lighter at the memory. How loud the gunshot had been in the train car, the way Nate had staggered back, the stunned look on his face before the pain hit… He’d never told her what had happened after he’d fled, after she’d thrown herself in front of a loaded gun to cover his escape. She hadn’t thought about it then, she’d just jumped. She couldn’t let him die, and protecting him had been worth blowing her cover, worth infuriating Harry, worth risking her own life.

Chloe sighed and scuffed her boot against the paving stones. She’d long since admitted to herself that she’d loved Nate. Still loved him, really. It hadn't ever been her plan-- she and Nate had been alike, no interest in commitment or emotional investment. He was a friend, he was great in bed, but it was never supposed to be serious. When he'd walked out on her that last time (tipping the balance of who'd left who in their relationship back towards him), it had just confirmed everything she'd thought about him. About them.

When he'd joined her and Harry on the job, it had been another chance. She wanted to keep him around, didn't want to let him disappear again, even if she wouldn't admit _why_. Wouldn't admit it for three months, busting her ass and risking her neck to get him out of prison. But somewhere between Borneo and Nepal, she'd worked it out. She thought of Nate as more than a fling. As more than a friend. Like that whole misadventure didn't have enough complications.

Then, of course, Elena had shown up. And Chloe had seen the way he'd talked to her, the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd dropped everything for her. He'd been willing to risk the whole job-- not because Elena had asked him to, but because he wanted that badly to keep her safe. To keep her close. So almost as quickly as she'd realized that she loved him, she'd worked out that _he_ loved somebody else. Chloe sighed and braced her elbows on her knees, her own words playing back in her head. 'Do yourself a favor, cowboy. Tell her.' She doubted that Nate would ever realize that it was the closest she'd come to telling him herself. _Tell her, Nate. Don't make my mistakes._

They'd stayed in touch, since they'd parted ways in Nepal, random phone calls at odd hours. And that was unusual for their relationship; it wasn't uncommon to go months, if not longer, without hearing from each other. But in the weeks after Shambhala, she found herself calling him for no reason other than to hear his voice, to reassure herself that he was alive, that he hadn't died there. She made herself stop recently, though. Nate had his own life, and she had hers. She was never going to get over any of this if she got all clingy.

Chloe groaned and rubbed a hand over her face. “I need a drink,” she mumbled. If she was going to sit around and be maudlin, she might as well get drunk in the process. Drinking alone in her flat sounded rather pathetic, really, but so did sitting on a cold park bench and kicking herself over her shoddy taste in men. Chloe pushed herself to her feet and slid the lighter back in her pocket. Maybe it was for the best that she was alone right now. Having witnesses to this would just be embarrassing. 

The thought did little to make her feel less lonely, though. Chloe shoved her hands in her pockets and started walking in the general direction of her flat. Hopefully she'd find a place that would sell her a bottle of whiskey on the way.


End file.
